


Ten Blocks

by painting



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allergies, Sneezing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painting/pseuds/painting
Summary: Lance and Keith walk home.





	Ten Blocks

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my kink zone. get out

“ _Hp’TCH! TCSHh!_ I-- _Hht’CHSh! CHHyew!_ Okay. _Hh’TSCHh’uh!_ That’s-- _Ehht’KTSCHHyew!_ Oh my god. Okay. Sorry,” Lance says, and he has a tissue tented around his nose when he turns back to face Keith.

Keith doesn’t even say _It’s fine,_ or _Are you okay?_ or even _What’s wrong with you?_ because he’s been hearing Lance sneeze like that for days now. It’s practically a new normal, or at least it has been for the past seven days. Instead, he asks, “Don’t you get tired of that?”

“ _Thank_ you, I--” Lance says, and stops himself short when he realizes he’d heard Keith wrong. “ _Sorry_ , I thought you said…”

“Bless you?”

“Thank you,” Lance says again, for real this time, under the assumption that Keith was offering the nicety instead of finishing his sentence for him. “Sorry, it’s kind of like a reflex.”

Keith squints. “Are you saying I’m not polite?”

“Uh… for not responding to my twelve dozenth sneezing fit of the day? No, not really. I’m sick of it too.”

“Dozenth isn’t a word,” Keith says.

“Yes it is! What do you mean dozenth isn’t a word? I swear I’ve talked to you about dozenth before,” Lance argues. “Unless it was Pidge? I don’t remember. But it’s definitely a word.”

Keith shifts his weight and stares at the straggler clouds moving swiftly across the dark night sky. “I’m not, like…” Keith says, “tired of hearing you sneeze. It just must be, I don’t know, annoying. For you.”

“It’s fine,” Lance waves off, his voice awfully smooth and dismissive for someone who complains about having allergies as much as he does. “Why are you out so late, anyway?”

“I had a project I was--”

“ _Hah’CHSHh! Hh’TSHHyew!_ H-hang on-- _Eht’CHShhUE!_ ”

“...Bless you,” Keith says pointedly.

Lance rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Thanks. Shut up.”

A car drives by, the sound of bright, fast party music increasing and then quickly deafening as it pours through the open windows. “I don’t think the bus comes very often this late. We should walk back to campus,” Keith decides. “It’s under a mile and that way you won’t be stuck outside as long.”

Lance crosses his arms. “I don’t mind waiting,” he insists.

“I do,” Keith says shortly, and tugs on Lance’s wrist. “Come on. We’ve been standing here almost twenty minutes.”

“Okay, okay, loosen your grip a little!” Lance says. Keith does, but he doesn’t let go. Lance speeds up to match Keith’s pace. “You never answered my question.”

“I was interrupted,” Keith says.

“Well, I don’t have to sneeze now,” Lance says. “So spill.”

“I have a project due next week. The university library closes too early,” Keith answers as he leads Lance to cut through a cul-de-sac and down a residential street. “Faster this way,” he explains.

“What kind of project?” Lance asks.

“Just a research paper.” Keith watches Lance drag his fingers along the side of a fence as they pass.

“Did you need to look in the archives or something?”

“No,” Keith answers. A moth flies toward the street lamp in front of them, leaving its dust behind. “Just the computer.”

Lance deadpans as much as someone with the sniffles possibly can. “You _have_ a computer.”

“Um.” Keith breaks eye contact and looks down the street. “Not right now. I sort of… broke it?”

“Sort of?”

“I broke it.”

“You broke it.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Sort of.”

They approach the crosswalk. Lance holds his arm out in front of Keith, colliding with his chest, just before Keith barrels out in front of an oncoming biker. The biker angrily chimes their bell, the action comically non-threatening, as they ride south toward campus.

“You’re supposed to look both ways!” Lance chides. “This is probably why you’re breaking your things!”

“A bicycle didn’t run over my laptop,” Keith says.

“Still!” Lance insists. “Watch where you’re going!”

“That guy should’ve had a flashing light or reflective tape or something,” Keith argues. “It’s almost two in the morning. It’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, almost as dangerous as not following the basic crosswalk safety that my mom taught me when I was _two_.” Lance rubs his nose and sniffs sharply. It’s almost indignant. “Are you okay?”

Keith shrugs. His reflexes are usually faster than that. “It’s late! There’s usually nobody out right now, especially without any sort of bright… vehicular… warning signal.” He’s not the best with words during the prime of day, and his mind feels foggy now. “Are you okay?”

 _Am I okay…_ Lance mouths to himself, bewildered. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Just,” Keith says, gesturing at nothing.

“I’m fine,” Lance promises. “Just sneezy. How did you break your computer?”

Keith frowns -- Lance sees it as they pass by one of those houses that has a little lamp attached to its goddamn mailbox. Talk about extra. Did the residents think midnight college town bandits were going to steal their cable bills and wedding invites? “I guess _I_ didn’t break it,” he clarifies. “But I was wearing my backpack when I got into it with this guy--”

“ _Wait_ ,” Lance says. His voice is intense and full of laughter. “You broke it because you got into a _fight_ with somebody? Is this 1953?”

Keith blinks. “What?”

“You know! How guys back then were always, like, _Hh’TSCHhuh!_ Oh great.” That one had come on so quickly that he’d barely had time to cover his mouth. “ _Eht’KTSCHh! TSCHh! TSSCHhuh! --ah! Ahh’ESHhYew!_ When they were always getting into it with each other?”

“People still get into fights, Lance,” Keith says, turning away to reach into his jacket pocket.

“Nah. It’s different now,” Lance argues in between sniffles. His voice is starting to sound hoarse.

“Here,” Keith says, and he has one of those brown restaurant napkins in his hand. It’s barely wrinkled. “I have another one if you need it, I think.”

Lance takes the offering immediately and asks, “Why do you have…?” because Keith doesn’t really seem like the practical type.

“I don’t know,” Keith shrugs. Lance believes him. “I just do.”

Lance blows his nose on the napkin that smells a little bit like cardboard and a little bit like Keith, which is a lot more of a pleasant combination than it sounds. He thinks about the packet of tissues he has in his own pocket. “Can I get the second one, too?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Keith says, his voice tight and rushed in a way that makes of obvious how hard he’s trying to sound casual, and hands it over just in time.

“Thanks. _Huh’CHHsh! Hh’CHSHHyew!_ You’re the-- _hh’HH’TSHh! EhTSHYEW!_ You’re the best.”

“Bless you.”

“Thanks. I’m so tired.”

“Yeah I bet,” Keith replies. “You don’t work tomorrow or anything, right?”

“Nope,” Lance grins. “I get to sleep in.” He looks absolutely blissful at the thought of it. “Hey! Why don’t you just come over in the afternoon and use my computer? That way you won’t have to go all the way downtown just to do homework.”

“Are you sure?” Keith asks. “Don’t you need it?”

“It’s cool. I can just do something else,” Lance says. His expression changes. “If you won’t be distracted by my…”

“No it’s fine,” Keith says quickly. “I don’t mind. You’re just as distracting when it isn’t allergy season.”

“Hey!”

“I hate going into the city just to do homework,” Keith says, then ducks his head to yawn. “It’s too crowded.”

“Aw,” Lance coos. It’s almost more affectionate than it is teasing. “You’re tired too.”

“I’m okay,” Keith says, sounding like he’s defending himself against an accusation. “Not used to staying up this late, I guess.”

“I didn’t know you were a morning person,” Lance comments.

“I usually fall asleep and wake up quickly,” Keith explains. “It’s easy for me to get up when everyone else does.”

“Well,” Lance replies, “I’m not going to be functional until noon. So text me after then and I’ll let you in.”

“Okay.”

They continue walking in and out of sync, the neighborhood quiet aside from the rustling in the alleys -- probably a raccoon -- and the rhythmic chirping of the nocturnal insects. Save for his own spasmodic sniffling, Lance doesn’t speak until they reach the intersection just before his street.

“What are you doing?” he asks as Keith turns the corner along with him.

“Your building is this way,” Keith says, like Lance is some sort of idiot.

“I _know_ that!” Lance says. “But yours is still a couple blocks down.”

Keith shrugs and continues on.

“Are you _walking_ _me home?_ ” Lance asks.

Keith is quiet.

“It’s late,” he finally says.

“I had no idea you were so chivalrous,” Lance says, his voice fake-swooning, a little loud for the hour.

“I’m better in a fight than you,” Keith reasons. “So I should be the--”

“ _Hh’CHTSHh!_ ”

“Bless you. So I should--”

“ _Hdt’CHSHhuh! ISSHyew!_ ”

“Bless you.”

“ _ISSHhYEW!_ ”

“...So I should be the one to walk you home.”

Lance sniffles again. “You did not just say you’re better in a fight than me.”

“I am. You could fight me and find out if you want,” Keith suggests, his voice blank.

“I don’t have to!” Lance says back. “I can just ask your broken computer.”

“Okay,” Keith agrees. He looks exhausted, but the fire in his eyes is still there. “Maybe Hunk can take a look at it when I come over tomorrow.”

Lance’s building comes into view just after they pass under the branches of an overgrown, shady oak tree.

“Hunk is the best,” Lance muses, instantly distracted. “I bet he’ll fix you up in no time. You can hang out until it’s finished though.”

“Thanks,” Keith says. “So I’ll see you in, what…?”

Lance pulls out his phone. “Nine hours,” he says.

“Yeah,” Keith replies, about to turn around on his heels. “I’ll see you in nine hours.”

Lance smiles. Keith smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm generally really minimalistic and dialogue heavy but this was a whole new level for me


End file.
